The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) by R. Scott VanKirk Read Free Book Online

go, even though the thought of it made him want to vomit. (Of course, that may have just been the lingering effects of the hangover.)
    He had to be here. One of those kids who had visited that house might come back and get eaten, or worse. In fact, given Max's life, it was sure to happen. One death on his conscience was enough, so he had to do something about it. He'd made a list of options and their probable outcome in his head:
     
Tell Chief Wayne about it... and get sent to the loony bin and read about the string of senseless stoner murders at the Faust place.
Burn down the house... and take out the entire dry, hot state.
Sell the house to the local chapter of the KKK, and let them use it for their meetings. He was still looking for the downsides to this one.
Call Ghost Chasers... and watch them end up as undead chow on national television.
Arm himself for bear, and go kill that thing... and end up personally as undead chow.
Call friends and family to come help. Unfortunately, all the “friends” he had made as a star had deserted him; he had not talked with his childhood friends for years, and an 88 year old, dead mother would not strike fear into the hearts of any monsters.
     
    Three was his first and favorite choice, but practicality convinced him to discard it. He had no idea where the deed was or how to find the KKK, and selling it to anyone would take a lot of time—time for someone to get eaten on his watch.
    Similarly, numbers one and two were right out. After One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, he'd rather dig his own eyes out with a dull spoon than risk a mental hospital, and even though he didn't like Mississippi so far, he felt that burning the state down would be a bad thing.
    He thought long and hard about Ghost Chasers, but he was done with having other people pay for his mistakes. Besides, he liked the show. He would feel terrible if he were responsible for taking it off the air.
    That left him with number five. At least if he got eaten, he wouldn't have to feel guilty about all the others getting eaten after him.
    A short while after that fateful decision, sitting in the car and staring at the desiccated arm where it lay on the driveway pathetically clinging to his abandoned shirt, he dusted off number one again. Maybe the loony bin wouldn't be as bad as all that...
    Visions of Nurse Kratchet, or Ratchet, or whatever her name might be, quickly informed him that four was the only way to go. He sighed. He was neatly trapped.
    Well, at least he came prepared. He got out of the car while carefully watching the arm and opened the trunk to get to his newly gathered monster hunting kit. He hadn't been able to get any of the major firepower he truly wanted because of some stupid law about needing to wait three days to buy a large caliber assault weapon and a state driver's license, but he felt he’d done all right.
    He considered the pile for a moment, grabbed his steel-club flashlight, then the chainsaw, and ran out of hands.
    “Fuck!” He’d forgotten one very important piece of equipment – a backpack or fanny back. He scanned the ground around himself as if he might find a conveniently discarded pack. Finding nothing, he thought longingly about calling the whole thing off, but he knew he probably wouldn't be able to force himself back here. He'd gotten here this time only because he had been actively trying to convince himself that it had all been... er... something other than real. The arm in the driveway had crushed that forlorn attempt at self-delusion.
     Crap. Okay, first things first. He needed light, so he took the flashlight and stuffed it into his belt on his left side.
    He eyed the chainsaw and put it down. He’d have to carry that. Next, he considered the shotgun he’d purchased from a boy of about 15 for $500 along with twenty boxes of shotgun shells. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but he was having second thoughts about carrying it. He seemed to remember that Vampires could only